Wrong
by signedheart
Summary: What do you do when something you desire is wrong? It's simple, you kill the desire. Contains slash. Contains violent and sexual topics.
1. Chapter 1

"I don't think this is a good idea," a nervous voice sounded in the darkened room. A classroom who's last class was over six hours ago.

A chuckle met his ears, "and why's that?"

"We could get caught," he offered. Not a good enough reason.

"And since when have you been worried about being caught out after curfew?"

A hand came and brushed his arm and he jumped back, "that's not what I meant."

His avoidance prior didn't stop the other person who used it to their advance, pressing him into the wood of a desk. It creaking under the pressure.

"Come on, love. I won't bite...hard."

He almost choked as he heard those words. His hands moving up to try to put distance between him and the other boy.

"You know you're really ruining the mood..." the other boy sounded disappointed.

He sighed, "I'm sorry... this just isn't who I am." _That was the truth, right?_

"I think it is."

"I don't...I don't know anymore," he was suffocating by the other boy's presence. The same way he always found himself whenever he was around. In class, the hallways, even out in the open air above the pitch. When he was around, he felt as though he was choking.

A dark chuckle, "Who better to figure it out with?" Their lips covered his quickly, driving any thoughts from his head. They pulled only millimeters away when he spoke again, their breath puffing against his lips. "But it's up to you. You can tell me no." Another heavy kiss followed his words.

When they broke apart he laughed hollowly. "I suppose you're correct," he spoke as lips trailed down to the edge of his neck, nipping sharply at sensitive skin. He was sure the other boy could feel his exaggerated swallow.

The other boy kissed the corner of his mouth, their hands moving lower down his body, "Aren't I usually?"

"Shut up, you talk to much." All he could focus on were a pair of hands, one placed on his hip to steady him and one provocatively dipping underneath clothing.

I triumphant smile could be felt against his skin,"As do you, love."

* * *

What followed continued on for most of the remainder of the school year. Months of secretive bliss. He knew it was wrong, his friends would be disgusted by it. And who the other boy was didn't help that case. The other boy didn't care. He was happy having him in any way that he could. He kept their, dare I say, relationship a secret from everyone. It was just easier for all parties that way. Both of them knew what would happen if someone were to find out.

At the end of their sixth year, they each were struggling with their own and very prominent demons. They saw each other less and less as time passed. Secretive weekly meetings in the room of requirement faded until nearly each time one of them stood the other up. Bottled up emotions would wreak havoc on the occasions that they did manage to see each other. It got messy. It was problematic. It was_ wrong._

After all, there was a war brewing.

* * *

-Author's Note-  
Hello there lovelies. This is a little something different from what I normally write. This chapter is more so to set a scene, hence the length. Treat it as a memory for the story to come.  
Let's see where this goes!


	2. Chapter 2

He was caught in the neon. The light of the big glowing B flickering, making his face light up and grow darker as he looked at the sign. He didn't want to be here. He didn't mean to ever end up here. But he was having a hard time lately and he went wandering. His initial goal was to just get smashed at the bars and then go home. He achieved the first half of that goal, but now he was staggering as he approached a different bar. This one had something different. Something more dark and appealing. With its dim lighting and its pretty boys.

The thought of what he might get into in there was almost sobering, but he took a drag from the cigarette he had been holding and tried to stop thinking. Exhaling the smoke he dropped the cigarette, its glowing embers scattering across the cracked pavement. It had rained and the small puddles soaked his shoes as he walked. The term cold feet held two meanings now.

The door handle was coated in some questionable sticky substance as he placed a hand on it, opening the door and letting it swing out. Inside the noise was deafening. But the real distraction were the men, all in various amounts of clothing. Looking at his own attire he felt over dressed, or at least had too much clothing intact.

The bartender took notice of him right away. Maybe it was the fact that he already looked drunk, and didn't look like he had any plans of stopping. Or maybe it was the fact that he looked so out of place. Of course it couldn't be because of who he was. This was a muggle place. He knew no one would recognize him the way they would in a wizarding one. The war had made everyone famous.

He sat in silence as he drank a little more than he should have. He wasn't positive he would last the night because his blood alcohol level was approaching dangerous territory. He just didn't care anymore.

"Hello," a voice sounded from beside him, jerking him from his thoughts.

A nearly panicked, shaky voice left him as he addressed the man that had just sat down beside him. "Hello..."

A questioning glance his way nearly sent him running for the hills, yet he remained calm on the outside. Or so he thought.

In reality the other man found his nerves rather adorable, and that's what made his decision to find out more about this man. "How are you."

"Fine." The glass in his hand was straining not to shatter under the pressure of his grip.

The man rolled his eyes, noticing, and liking, the way the he was tensing,"You good?"

He sat upright, "Why wouldn't I be? Of course I'm good."

Darkened irises and dilated pupils met his gaze. "I'm sure you are."

He knew what was being implied. He knew and he hated it, was repulsed by it. So why was it affected him the way it did? Why was he suddenly wondering how soft this man's lips could be, and wondering how he looked under the too tight t-shirt that he wore? Without realizing completely what he was doing he reached out and touched the soft material of the man's shirt that was covering his torso. The man made a noise of contentment low in his throat. And that is when his brain shut off. That's when it went dark.

* * *

When he opened his eyes he was face first into a hard chest. He jolted at what memories came rushing back to him. Shit. No! He flung himself to the foot of the bed, pulling on boxers as quickly as possible. Wanting to be as clothes as he could. Not wanting to be near the naked man still in bed, only covered by the white sheets.

The action roused the sleeping man, "Morning." A look of peaceful bliss was painted on his face. Clearly last night was good for him.

That look made him sick. There wasn't any response other than a wide eyed, terrified look.

"You know," the man started, trying to ease him, "I never got your name last night." Just making conversation.

"So?" he growled at him. Why would someone as _disturbed_ as him want to know _his_ name?

The man chuckled, "So I usually don't make a habit of fucking men who's names I don't know."

"I don't usually make a habit of fucking men," darkened features responded.

Not letting his attitude get in the way, the other man responded cheekily, "Good, you're better at receiving."

He growled, "I am not!"

A shrug, "You seemed to enjoy it."

"I did not. How would I ever enjoy such a _wrong_ act?" He spat out.

The man's face scrunched up as he went through every detail from last night, he didn't understand where it went wrong. "Wh-what?"

He stalked around the bed, closing in on his prey. "You're going to regret you ever forced me to do such a thing."

Hands went up in the air defensively. "Hey there, I didn't force you. You suggested this."

No. No. No! He couldn't have ever done that willingly, let alone suggest it. The other man must be lying, he must be! "You forced me. I would never do such a thing. You must have cast a spell on me."

The man was a muggle, he didn't have any way of knowing that this phase was to be taken literally. For muggles it was just an expression, and a positive one at that. Naturally the man laughed, figuring that this was just play fighting, albeit in a strange way. "Well I guess you could say that," hooded eyes rolled up at him.

The glare received was unnerving, "Then I have a spell for you."

* * *

A dark red stain was forming on the beige carpet. A gun wound to the head would do that, you know? Even if the body was already cold before the gun went off, blood still poured out of it the same. The gun didn't kill him. A gun was placed in the hand of the dead man's. A note was written in the man's penmanship, the pen bewitched to write as such. Key words like "failure" and "disappointment" were placed in the short paragraph for good measure. Fingerprints were magically wiped clear. No traces of him were left in the room of his debauchery. He hadn't really meant to kill the man, had he? No, it was more of an accident. But he did what needed to be done. The world would be a better place if men that lured other men into bed weren't in it. It was wrong. And you get rid of what is wrong.

It didn't look like an accident, it looked like suicide. Exactly how he wanted it.

_Approaching me was suicide, _he thought as he closed the door to the house, leaving the corpse inside for police to find later that week.


	3. Chapter 3

A door swung open and papers flew not he desk of a man who was looking anything but pleased to have been erupted. His face changed slightly when a file landed in his hand.

The Minister spoke as he entered the room, clearly not caring that he was just in the middle of something."Harry Potter. Just the man I wanted to see."

"And why is that sir?" As an auror Harry clearly knew that when his boss was looking for him in specific, there was a pretty big case. He wasn't head auror for just anything.

He gestured to the file in the auror's hand, "There has been a murder that I'd like you to look into."

Harry looked up confused, flipping the file he had just opened closed again, "That's not really my-"

He was cut off, "I know, that's Malfoy's job."

"Why am I sensing a 'but'?" Harry nearly sighed.

His boss flashed him a convincing smile, "I want you to work on it as well though."

Harry sighed out loud this time, it was always awkward when he worked with Malfoy. The two men just didn't get along. Their working together always just proved to be more harmful to a case than it was any good. Besides this wasn't Harry's job. He dealt with the bad guys, not figured out who they were.

But, he decided to at least humor him. And maybe Harry was just a bit curious. "Who was murdered?"

"A muggle. It was ruled a suicide."

Harry rolled his eyes when his boss was busy looking at paperwork he had picked up from the desk, "Isn't that what police are for?"

"Well yes, but they believe it was a suicide, a gun shot to the head."

Harry barely flinched, "so what do we have to do with it?"

"It wasn't the gunshot that killed him. At least I don't believe so. Magic was swarming through his body. The killing curse was used."

Now he was intrigued. "So the gunshot? That happened after...to fool police?"

His boss nodded, "It seems as such."

"Well now things are interesting. Okay, I'll do it."

The minister smiled, "Great! I thought you would."

Harry smiled back, "but good luck getting Malfoy on board, we all know what a pisser he can be."

Oh but the minister did. His later conversation with Draco went as planned, though not painless.

"You want me to work with Potter?" The near growl could be heard from a few offices down.

The minister toyed with his fingers, making them into temples, "Not with him per say, more like as well."

The man groaned, "You want me to tag along with him?"

"Just do it Malfoy."

"Why? There are plenty of others that can work with Potter. Hell, there are some that would die to be working with him." He remembered the giggling female worker on his investigation team that went gaga over_ the chosen one_. UGH.

His boss sighed, "That's the point." Before leaving through the open door.

"Fine." He seemed to have no other option. He slouched down into his office chair and opened the file he had just been given. "_Well, at least it seems interesting..." _He thought as he flipped through the pages.

Not long after the man he was working with, no..._as well as_ knocked on his door.

"You ready to go yet, Malfoy?"

He just glared at him, taking his time to gather up paper work and stuffing them into a brief case. "I suppose I have to be."

Harry gave him the directions of the crime scene and they both flooed to the nearest network.

"We have to take a car from here." Harry spoke after Draco appeared from the flames.

"Thanks, Sherlock. I thought they'd have us ride a dragon into muggle London. Can't see why they don't have you on these cases more often."

Harry smirked at the muggle reference, maybe Draco did know a thing or two.

Draco glared back, "Don't look at me like that."

Harry didn't have time to retort because Draco took off towards a black car marked with a slightly altered Ministry of Magic logo on it, the wand being taken out of it leaving just a white M on the door. Harry hurried along after him, getting into the car and tipping his head at the man who had opened the door for them, the one that Draco had so dudley ignored. Despite what some gossipy magazines may have said, Draco was anything but a charmer. His personality was cold and his emotional range was the size of a water droplet. He was good at his job because emotions never got in the way. Nothing got in the way of Draco Malfoy. It was actually slightly frightening.

Inside the car were three other people, Draco's team. It consisted of two males and a female who all but tripped over herself to introduce herself to Harry.

"Honestly Lyra..." Draco muttered under his breath but was ignored by the bouncy brunette. She idolized Harry and his friends. Though her true love of the trio was Hermione, she wanted to be just like her. She was young and wanted to do great things, make the world a better place. She was in the business for all the right reasons.

"What do you know?" The question Draco asked at the start of any new case.

"Not much, we're just here to help collect evidence and get a feel for the atmosphere. The minister wanted you two to take the lead on this." The man looked slightly bitter.

Draco sighed, "Of course he does..." This meant he really would be working way too close to Potter for comfort.

Most of the 20 minute ride after that was spent silent, save for the clicks and slams of different equipment that the team put together to collect evidence.

Entering the apartment of the victim they spread out, but Draco and Harry went straight for the body.

Despite the circumstances Draco couldn't help but chuckle at the horrified look on Potter's face.

"It's just a body, Potter."

He tried to play it off, wiping the look mostly from his face but tearing his eyes away and looking instead at Draco's shoulder, not meeting his eyes. "I've seen worse." He clipped.

"Haven't we all?"

"Being horrified just means you're human," Lyla piped in walking up with a camera. "Could you two move please?"

Draco groaned. At least she was being professional.

"Yeah I guess," Harry muttered.

"She right," Draco said. "Everyone else you've ever seen dead has meant something to you, either they were the dark side or they were someone you knew...sometimes both. This case you're completely detached from. So instead of focusing on the person like you had before, you're focusing on the blood and gore of it." He shrugged.

"Huh," Harry nodded, "You actually know what you're talking about."

Draco glared at the other man, "Yeah, it's kinda my job."

* * *

Draco stood at the end of a long table, papers scattered everywhere and a quill scratching this and that on every few of said papers. Harry watched in amusement at the show Draco was putting on, even though that show was just Draco doing his job.

"Okay so what do we know?"

"That you take your job too seriously?" Harry scoffed as he leaned back in his office chair. He flicked his wrist and a quill flew out of Draco's hand, landing in his own.

"Stop that!"

"Nah."

Draco glared at him."Must you always act like such a child?"

"You need to loosen up. No wonder why half of your department wants to work for mine, you're a drag." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Someone died, Potter. Get serious."

"Fine."

"So...what do we know?"

"I know that he was a muggled and his death was classified as a suicide. The victim was found by muggle police with a gun shot to the head. But it is believed that he was murdered with magic, the killing curse."

"Yes. We also know that his name was Charles Dugfur, age 37,he was single and lived alone. He was an author, nothing had been published that was worth a mention so it probably wasn't a crazy fan or enraged reader, his work wasn't even good."

"Harsh."

"Honest."

"Okay bu-"

"We know that this man was more likely not suicidal, his every day living shows he had a decently happy live. He had a really good family, helped take care of his niece a lot. Supported his community. He seemed to be a pretty good guy."

"So-"

"He didn't seem to have any enemies, so that would make me think he may of had something that someone wanted. It may have been a theft gone wrong. But...nothing was taken. Nothing was disrupted other than the bed he had slept in and the... shower door...wait." Draco scanned over pictures in a file, a shower door swinging open to reveal a message scribbled into the steam. "Wrong."

"What's wrong? The fact that the guy must have taken a shower there with a dead body on the floor? 'Cause yeah, that's pretty wrong." Harry looked wary of being cut off again.

"That's what it says, 'Wrong,' just that." He showed Harry the picture for him to study.

"Do you think he feels guilty?"

"It's a possibility, criminals often do. It's the real sociopaths that don't."

They went on late into the night, studying every single detail that had been collected at the crime scene. Not only once but combing over everything three or four times, trying to catch something that might link someone to the crime. Every criminal had to slip somewhere. But it was late, later than Harry liked to work on cases like these. He'd prefer to be at home, in bed. Or actually anywhere but here looking at the pictures of blood splatters or the dead man.

Draco on the other hand was use to this, spending long hours like this nearly every night.

"Are we nearly done?"

"Haven't even made a dent."

"Can we finish this tomorrow?"

Draco rolled his eyes, "We won't finish this for a while."

"How long do these things usually last?" Harry was drained, more so mentally than physically.

Draco shrugged, "Until we catch them."


End file.
